


Of Fish

by Tipper



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Challenge Response, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 17:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3298658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipper/pseuds/Tipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short OW story written in 2001 in answer to a challenge.  When JD heads to the hotel to find out what the "special" dinner is that they are cooking, the smell reminds him of a much different, much grander hotel in the heart of his old home town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Fish

**Author's Note:**

> This is another old one, written in August 2001, to answer a challenge. In essence, we had to divine memories for one of the seven from a smell. I picked on JD because I like to think of him as being from Boston, home of the great Parker House Hotel, the oldest hotel in the U.S.

Clocks dinged, pocket-watches chimed, and bells rang, pealing through the soft desert air of Four Corners. With handshakes and nods, men and women bade each other farewell in the street and began easing their way towards the hotel, the boarding house, the saloon, and their homes for the evening meal.

Sitting outside the jail, JD looked up as Ezra ambled over to relieve him of his watch. The gambler was rarely hungry at this time, preferring to eat later as he often had the night shift or was planning to stay up late gaming. JD, on the other hand, being an early riser and an early-nighter, was starving.

“Hey Ezra,” he greeted, standing and handing over the cell door keys at his waist.

“Mister Dunne,” the gambler returned, taking the keys and attaching them to his own belt. There were only a couple of spirited cowboys sleeping off too much liquor in the lock-up, but they still had to be looked after. Ezra peeked inside to make sure all was well before taking the seat JD had vacated and pulling out a book. The light was waning, but it was still bright enough to read.

“Um…” JD scratched at his head. “Any idea what Inez is cooking tonight?”

“Burritos, I would imagine,” came the lazy reply.

“What about the boarding house?”

Ezra lifted his head up in order to cock an eyebrow at the boy. “Should I know?” he asked honestly.

JD snorted, scuffed a shoe, and placed his hands on his hips as he studied the quiet town.

“However,” the gambler had lowered his head again, his hat obscuring his face as he spoke, “I do know that something special was received at the hotel today – packed in ice.”

“Ice?” JD was instantly curious.

“Yes, I watched as they received it and immediately took it around back to store in the cold well. Of course, whatever it is, I imagine that it will be expensive. I believe it was specially pre-ordered for those rather well-to-do gentlemen who arrived by coach this morning.”

“Expensive,” JD repeated as he looked toward the hotel. “Any idea what it could be?”

“No. As I said, I merely saw its placement into the cold well.”

“Oh.” The kid put his hand in his pocket, jangling the handful of coins therein. He wondered how expensive “expensive” would be. He was still standing there a few minutes later when Ezra emitted a heavy sigh, shutting his book with a huff.

“Go,” he ordered. “Find out what it is. And find out the price. If it is what I think it is, I’ll pay for both of us. Anything to stop you from incessantly jingling in my ear.”

JD was briefly baffled--he was jingling?--before grinning brightly as he got the point. “You gotta deal!” he said, bouncing away before Ezra could take it back. Picking up the pace, he veered down the alley, wanting to approach the hotel from behind, via the kitchens. An expensive meal on Ezra! This could be really good! 

The setting sun was cut off by the tall buildings, creating odd slants of light as he came round the rear of the jail. Lanterns had already been lit behind the Merc and the hotel, but no one was visibly moving about, creating a pleasant stillness. Humming to himself, he dug his hands into his pockets and looked up at the deepening blue of the sky.

As he approached the hotel’s wooden door, he found it wide open, heat and light pouring out of the large kitchen. Inside, he could hear the staff chatting as they worked, and the laughter of the waiters as they waited for the food to be done. As he got closer, though, he slowed down as the smell of what was cooking hit him.

He knew that smell. 

His smile fell and he came to a stop, feeling a little like someone had just punched him in the gut.

“It’s good for you, my lovely,” his mother’s ghost whispered in his ear. “Right from the Parker House kitchens—the best in the world, and don’t you forget it.” 

Like a dream, the red and gold carpets of Parker House Hotel appeared beneath his feet, the wood paneled walls surrounded him, and the lamps warming the halls gleamed and shone. His mother smiled at him as she flitted towards the copper and gold elevator, putting her fingers to her lips to the operator when he frowned down at the little boy with her. The hotel was one of the tallest buildings in Boston, and she often let him follow her around when she cleaned the rooms so he could take in the sights. From its highest rooms, you could see the copper top of the state house and the green leafy roof of the Common. From other windows, you could see and smell the harbor, the water filled with high-masted ships embarking around the world, the hint of salty sea air wafting through every room. 

He trailed after his mother as she threw open windows and pointed things out to him before she went about changing sheets and cleaning up after the occupants. He could hear her voice softly chattering away, keeping him company as he pressed his nose against the glass, watching the schooners and the fishing boats fighting for dominance on the blue water. He couldn’t recall what she talked about, but he remembered the sound of her voice in his ears.

On the first floor, the restaurant served the richest and most beautiful people you could imagine, and everything it put on the table was the best. At lunchtime, when they’d wander down to the huge kitchens, he’d stand open mouthed as carts of fish and lobster were dragged up the cobblestone street by men with arms bigger than his head. In the cold locker, meat hung from hooks, ready for carving, but it was the fish that dominated the air in the fast moving basement kitchens. 

Cod, salmon, carp, haddock, mackerel, shrimp…the smell of cooking fish would stink up the oven heated rooms, clinging to clothes. His mother often bustled him out of there quickly, so that he wouldn’t smell like fish for the rest of the day. She’d laugh as she did so, trading quips with the cooks and kitchen-staff as they prepared the meals for the people upstairs. The butlers, waitstaff and clerks hung out just outside the doors, waiting for the call to pick up their food, stealing quick smokes and giving her a wink. The waitstaff were often young, and they would trade ribald jokes with the fishermen and longshoremen delivering the goods. The butlers and clerks were above all that, but they listened, usually with tiny smiles on their faces. 

JD staggered to the side of the hotel, his hand pressed against the coarse wooden siding, overwhelmed by the memories.

When she got sick, the hotel let her go, unable to keep on such an obviously ill woman with the fears of typhoid and influenza in full blow. She had to find another position somewhere, and ended up cleaning up after patrons in one of the smaller and dirtier inns in the city, closer to the wharf. It was a step down, and the way his mother was treated by the patrons and the staff clearly reflected that. JD was in school by this time, and only saw his mother when she arrived home at night, her face drawn from long hours of fending off advances and fighting with her illness. More often than not, she came home stinking of fish, as she made her way home through the market routes. 

Occasionally, however, she would bring a fish home with her, a gift from someone, or perhaps, she just wanted to cook something other than potatoes and beans. And sometimes, when she took a detour to go past the Parker House and chat with her old friends in the kitchens, she came home with that night’s fish entrée—“the best in the world," she'd say, "and don’t you forget it.”

Later, when she got that position on that estate west of the city, away from the ocean, JD would try to find excuses to escape the manicured gold courses and carefully landscaped gardens to get back to the water. He was a teenager by that time, and was supposed to be looking after the stables. But on his day off he’d do whatever he could to get back to the harbor, to smell the sea and swing by the Parker House kitchens to bring dinner home for his mother. 

He'd forgotten how much he’d loved doing that, loved watching her face light up when he'd unwrap the fish for her. Now he wondered if he would ever see the ocean again.

“Sheriff?”

JD jumped what felt like a mile, startled, his thoughts having drifted so far away. One of the hotel’s young new under-cooks, Esme Waters, was standing by the door to the kitchens. She was wiping her hands on her apron and watching him curiously.

“Sorry about that,” she said, blushing at him. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Just…you’ve been there a while. You alright?”

“Uh,” JD let out a deep breath, shaking his head to dispel his thoughts of old home. Straightening, he nodded. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. I just….that smell it, it reminded me of…of….” He frowned. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

She smiled softly. “Oh, sure. If you say so.” From the tone of her voice, it was clear that she wasn’t quite sure what to make of that answer. Embarrassed now, JD receded a little from the light to hide his flaming cheeks. He also remembered why he’d come.

“Actually, I was curious, um…” He licked his lips. “What exactly are you cooking?”

“Fish.”

JD had to smile, and he shook his head. “Yes, I know that. What kind of fish?”

“Pacific salmon, so they tell me. All I know is, it’s pink. Very pretty looking. Cost a bundle to get it here, so they say.”

“Pacific salmon,” JD repeated softly, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. Not Atlantic salmon. Not the same. At his tone, Miss Waters frowned, putting a hand to her hip.

“I’m not sure what you were expecting, Sheriff, but I’m told it’s the best salmon in the country. I wouldn’t dismiss it so, if I were you. Certainly better than the bony, tasteless fish they pull out of the rivers here, and we’re not just cooking over some open pit. It’s being roasted with white wine, butter and spices and served properly.” She sniffed, lifting her head a little as she looked down at him.

He huffed a laugh at her snobby tone. “Oh, I’m sure you’re right. I’m sure it’s the best, just as you say.” He shrugged then. “And, uh, how much is the dinner going for?”

She laughed, amused. “More than you’ve got, I’m afraid. More than I’ve got, and I’m cooking it! Cook won’t even let me eat the bits that break off. She’s being real mean about it.”

The hotel’s cook did have the reputation of being something of a harridan. Her under-cooks never lasted long before moving on. Esme probably wouldn’t last that long either. Her husband worked for Stuart James, but was apparently looking to head farther west again soon.

“Might it be more than Ezra’s got?” JD asked, tilting his head.

“Ezra?” She looked confused for a moment, her newness still shining thought. Then she brightened. “Oh, you mean Mr. Standish? The one in the red coat?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know. He got enough to pay five dollars a plate?”

JD’s eyes bugged. “Five dollars a plate!” Inez's dinners were rarely more than a quarter.

“Yup. Cook says that includes wine, though. They shipped some fancy wine to go with it.”

“Five dollars,” JD repeated, shaking his head. “I don’t know--”

“He’s got enough,” a southern voice said from behind them, causing JD to jump a second time, much to his annoyance.

Ezra walked around from out the shadows, his hat still low on his face. JD blinked, then frowned, about to ask who was watching the jail. Ezra simply raised a hand.

“Mr. Tanner agreed to relieve me, once I told him that I had promised you dinner. Not seeing you in front, I thought I would check back here to see how you were getting on. I heard the tail end of the conversation, and, frankly, I think the idea of eating fresh salmon again is something I don’t think I can pass up. Could you?”

“It’s pacific salmon,” JD said, frowning still. Ezra smiled, and patted him on the shoulder.

“Being from the same coast as you, son, I can understand your bias. However, Miss Waters is correct about pacific salmon. I think you’ll be more than happy.”

JD looked at Esme, then at Ezra. The gambler was smiling, expectant.

“Well, heck, if you’ve got the money--!” JD grinned.

“Indeed,” the gambler backed away and indicated JD should lead them towards the front.

The kid turned, nodded to Esme, then started walking. As he did so, his memories of the Parker House kitchens faded even further from his mind. He was, after all, going to be one of the served, not one of the servers. The idea almost gave him pause, but as Ezra matched his stride to walk next to him, smiling over some old memory of his own, JD found himself grinning. He imagined that now, whenever he smelled pacific salmon, he’d have a new, good memory to relate it to.

Plus, hell, he wasn’t paying!


End file.
